In the Fire

So, this is what it looks like after someone is caught in the fire. The smell comes first and stays with you. The Internet doesn't even have a thesaurus or dictionary big enough to find the words for the smell. No one ever wants to smell it but when they do, they'll never forget it.
Then the sight comes into view. It is inhuman. A mannequin spray painted black. Toes curled tight as if the foot was bound down like an ancient Chinese custom. Splits throughout the skin and then the face. What was once the face will never shake from my mind. Almost with extreme comical exaggeration; the face is horror and humor at once. It is all teeth and skull. No hair, no wrinkles, no real discernible expression, yes the desperation is unavoidable. Breathless and frozen; straining for air and release from the trauma.
The burned have no social class. For there are only slim scraps of clothing left, and the dead have no regard for dignity.
In this case the fist is what will follow me home. Laying there on his back, his arm frozen in the position he was baked alive in. His fist was raised up above his head. Almost victorious; though this day, there was nothing my brothers could do to have his rescue be a success.